


You Get What You Give

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Bad!Senior, Case Fic, Cooking, Episode: s09e10 Sins of the Father, Established Relationship, Excessive discussion, Love, M/M, Referenced Underage M/F Sex, Sins of the Father, Team, Thanksgiving, Violence, Yabba yabba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: The whole team is coming for Thanksgiving dinner, including Tony's wayward father. Before anyone arrives, Tony barrels in, and tells Gibbs he thinks his father had something to do with a murder case they just solved.





	1. Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gibbsandtonysbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gibbsandtonysbabe/gifts).



> Takes place right after 9x10 Sins of the Father. Bad!Senior. Good!Team.
> 
> Request from gibbsandtonysbabe: "I love a strong Tony! Not a Ziva fan period. I am open to most anything that puts Tony front and center as a strong, competent, intelligent sexy badass. If he is with Tim he is the strong one. I am an open kinda girl and have no issue with hurt comfort, angst or romance in any type of setting as long as Tony is written well and strong. If Senior is involved please don't write him as a good guy, I remember too many items Tony shared tomsee him as anything other than a selfish , self centered bastard. I am open to ratings, but seriously prefer mature or explicit."

**CHAPTER 1 - Falling Apart**  

 **_You Get What You Give  
_ ** _by the New Radicals_

 _This whole damn world can fall apart_  
_You’ll be okay follow your heart_  
_You’re in harms way_  
_I’m right behind_  
_Now say you’re mine_

 

**Thanksgiving, November 24, 2011**

 

Gibbs ran Thanksgiving Day dinner like a military operation; everything was planned and executed according to a strict schedule. The stuffed and seasoned turkey would come out of the oven at 1400, the football game kickoff was at 1700, and promptly at 2100 the party was over. At 2100:01 Gibbs intended to bundle his dinner guests out the door and lock the door behind them. Just to make sure there were no questions, he posted the schedule, written in bold letters with a Sharpie, on the fridge.

 

Ducky was in charge of wine and cheese. Abby, McGee and Ziva had all been told to bring side dishes and beer – but nothing fancy. Last year, Jimmy Palmer had brought some concoction consisting of pink jello, canned fruit, mini marshmallows and shredded coconut. He called it Ambrosia salad. Gibbs tossed it straight in the garbage can. This Thanksgiving Jimmy’s assignment was to bring cranberry jelly, and only cranberry jelly. “And don’t mess it up,” Gibbs had asserted.

 

Another issue, more serious than who was bringing what to the Thanksgiving meal, was what to do with Anthony DiNozzo Sr., who was going to join them.

 

For starters, Gibbs did not like the man. Between the way Senior consistently took advantage of Tony, and the way he insinuated himself into everyone’s good graces – with that oily, con-man charm he switched on whenever he needed something – well, Gibbs didn’t want him in his house a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. It irritated him that, despite everything Senior had done, Tony seemed to care for his father.

 

Gibbs didn’t like the way Senior had boasted that Dorneget was a wonderful agent with a brilliant future, right there in the bull pen. DiNozzo Sr. had gone on about how Gibbs should appreciate the junior agent, and had practically insisted Gibbs oust Tony from his hard-earned position as his SFA in order to give Dorneget the chance he deserved.

 

What was the guy thinking? Senior’s not-so-subtle way putting Tony down, the way he casually brushed him aside as being inconsequential, got Gibbs’ back up like nothing else did. Dorneget might have promise, but the guy was a probie, and he had a hell of a lot to accomplish before he even came _close_ to being a great agent. No matter what Senior’s opinion might be, Dorneget definitely wasn’t in the same league as any of Gibbs’ team.

 

Another thing, Gibbs definitely didn’t like the way Senior had breezed into the bullpen and hugged Ziva, while asking loudly when Tony was going to “come to your senses and sweep this ravishing creature off her feet?” Even Ziva had been discomfited by Senior’s comments. What the hell was wrong with the man? Anyone could see that Tony wasn’t interested in Ziva.

And what about the way Senior had rolled into town in a rented Rolls, trying to impress people when, according to his financial records, he had a long line of angry creditors snapping at his heels. DiNozzo Sr. was a user, a conman, a narcissist and a womanizer who, according to Tony’s offhand remark made just yesterday, used to make the moves on girls the same age as his teenage son.

 

Then there were all the little things about Senior that Tony had revealed over the years. Most were casually spoken, offhanded remarks said for laughs. Nobody took it seriously when Tony had told stories about how badly his father treated him as a kid. Whether it was neglect or outright abuse, Gibbs wasn’t certain, but it had started around the time Tony’s mother died and, as far as he could tell, it had continued well into his teenage years. Individually, the little stories Tony told, half-truths at best, raised no alarms, After all, some parents do spank their kids, or forget to pick them up after school, or leave them behind in a store. As Tony pointed out, _Home Alone_ was based upon someone’s true story. But when added together, Tony’s unguarded remarks about his relationship with his father suggested something more sinister, especially if you knew the senior DiNozzo.

 

Gibbs had known what DiNozzo Sr. was really like, right from the start. He’d seen beyond that veneer of expensive suits and slippery smiles: a man who was ugly and corrupted, and so unlike his son in character that it was a testament to Tony’s natural character that he had grown up to be such an honest, brave and caring man.

 

Senior knew Gibbs didn’t like him, even though Gibbs was civil to him – which was far more than the man deserved. Gibbs could see it bothered him, because the first rule of conning someone is getting to know them. But Senior couldn’t figure him out, and that pleased Gibbs no end.

 

Despite Senior’s recent efforts to win him over, Gibbs would never forget their first encounter, when he’d taken Senior aside to let him know what a fine agent Tony was, and how he should value his son. He’d even mentioned that Tony had recently recovered from the plague, and had been lucky to survive. Senior had accused him of interfering and snarled, “Piss off.” Those few minutes alone with Tony’s father had told Gibbs all he ever needed to know about the man, and at that moment he promised himself he would always be there for his young agent, and would mentor him and protect him to the very best of his ability.

 

It bothered Gibbs that Tony covered for his father, even making excuses for him while cleaning up whatever mess he left behind. How could he remain loyal to Senior, after all the shit he’d pulled? Tony knew exactly what his father was like, how he operated, Gibbs was sure of that. Yet Tony had risked his job trying to clear Senior of murder charges. Hell, he could have been brought up on charges himself, for interfering with the case. How far would he go for his father? Farther than the man would ever deserve, that was for sure.

 

Despite being ordered by Director Vance to keep his nose out of the case, Tony had done a back-end run and managed to dig up some evidence of his own. Even though his dad had the motive, means and opportunity, Tony wasn’t about to let them arrest him without a fight.

 

Thanks Tony’s his investigative skills – and convincing Abby to do a more specific tox screen, which revealed traces of sedatives in Senior’s system – Senior was cleared of killing Lt. Dean Massey. Together, Gibbs’ team was able to produce evidence that proved Lt. Massey had been killed by his own lawyer, Morgan Hunt. In addition, they discovered that Hunt had enlisted his assistant Linda to frame DiNozzo Sr. for the murder.

 • T • G • T • G • T • G •

 


	2. Follow Your Heart

**CHAPTER 2 - Follow Your Heart**

 

Late that day, cleared of all charges, DiNozzo Sr. turned up on Gibbs’ doorstep. “I’m looking for my son. He isn’t at his condo, and I find myself in the embarrassing position of not having enough funds to cover a night in a hotel,” he said to Gibbs, smiling broadly while looking not-at-all embarrassed. “A small mix-up with my bank I can clear up in the morning.”

 

Knowing that Tony would want his dad to join them for Thanksgiving dinner the next day, Gibbs invited him. He laid down the law, “One night only. And you have to sit down and have a talk with Tony. For once, act like a father towards him.”

 

“I’d never hurt Junior. He’s my son,” Senior replied, looking puzzled.

 

Of course Senior hurt Tony – he did it all the time. “I won’t tolerate you jerking him around,” Gibbs said, barely reining in his temper. He hated the way Senior treated Tony, and the way he made Tony feel, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow the man to cause him any pain.

 

“Of course not. Look, he’s the reason I’ve worked so hard, spent all this effort locking in investors for Stoney Ridge…It’s all for Junior.”

 

If there was one thing Gibbs hated, apart from the obvious lies that spilled out of Senior’s mouth, it was the way he called Tony ‘Junior’ – and he aimed to put a stop to it right then and there. Gibbs leaned into Senior’s space and ground out, “I don’t want to hear the word ‘Junior’ comin’ out of your mouth, _ever_ again. You call him _anything_ but Tony, and I’ll toss you out of my house. And you won’t be in one piece! Understand?”

 

Senior nodded, obviously intimidated but trying not to let it show.

 

Gibbs continued, “And I’ll remind you that the only reason you’re not rotting in a federal detention cell right this minute is because of your son, and the way he followed up on leads on his own – even when he was ordered to keep his nose out of the case. He risked his career for you!” And you’re not worth it, Gibbs thought.

 

Senior actually looked surprised. “I told you I didn’t–“

 

“You know what, Chief? This isn’t about you,” Gibbs said, stabbing a finger at Senior’s chest. By that time, Gibbs had had enough. He put Senior to work cleaning the turkey – “Make yourself useful.” – while he sat in the comparative peace of the dining room and started going through the mail that had piled up.

 

Gibbs was in the middle of paying bills when Tony showed up, griping about how his father had checked out of his hotel without letting him know. “My old man did it again. Went by the hotel to see him. He's gone, checked out. Did I get a phone call? No. Didn't even tell me. Shouldn't be surprised. What am I gonna do with that guy? He makes me crazy.” Tony sighed. “I should be really pissed off with him.”

Gibbs wasn’t about to disagree with that. “Mm-hmm. So why aren't you?”

 

“I really thought I was gonna lose him there for a second. And as crazy as he makes me, I do love the guy. The pathetic thing is I've never been able to tell him.”

 

Gibbs figured Senior had probably heard that, which meant he’d use it against Tony at some point.

 

As if on cue, Senior popped out of the kitchen, grinning. “Consider it done, Junior.” At Gibbs’ icy glare, Senior quickly amended his sentence, “I mean, Tony.”

  
Tony stared at his father in shock and then turned to Gibbs, with an accusing look that clearly asked, ‘Why the hell didn’t you let me know he was in the kitchen?’ Gibbs’ answer was a shrug. He hadn’t done it on purpose; the last thing he’d expected was for Tony to confess he cared about his father.

 

Tony turned to face his father. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

 

“Well, I didn’t have funds for a hotel and Gibbs offered me a room. Just until the mix-up with my bank is sorted out. You know how it goes.”

  
Tony appeared nonplussed. “You're staying in town? Here?”

 

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I wanted to be with my family.” As soon as Tony rose to his feet, Senior handed him the turkey’s giblets, saying, “Do something with this, Junior.”

  
Gibbs tried not to laugh, but seeing Tony with a handful of turkey parts, a look of revulsion on his face, was funny. “Want an apron?” he offered, smirking.

 

“Why am I touching these…these gross parts? Oh my God, is that a neck? This is worse than watching an autopsy.”

 

Normally, Tony would never touch raw poultry with bare hands, any more than he’d handle a corpse without gloves, so Gibbs took pity on him and located a bowl. “Save them for the gravy,” he said.

 

Shuddering, Tony dumped the offal into it and immediately went to wash and disinfect his hands. Senior stood at his elbow, holding a large plastic bag. “You’re going to brine it, aren’t you?”

 

“Gibbs made it last night,” Tony said, retrieving a large jug of fragrant-smelling brining solution from the fridge. “Rosemary, peppercorns, cloves…” After placing the jug on the counter, he pulled on a pair of heavy rubber dishwashing gloves and carefully placed the turkey in the bag.

 

It looked like the two DiNozzos could deal with the turkey, so Gibbs retreated to the dining room. He gathered his mail, tossed a bunch of papers in a wastebasket meant for recycling, and dumped everything he needed to keep on a small desk in the living room. Tony and McGee were always giving him grief about not doing his banking online, but he liked having real bills he could look over.

 

While he stoked up the fire, Gibbs heard a lot of banging of pans in the kitchen, and Tony’s father kept asking where things were. He glanced in, to see what they were up to, and saw flour and baking ingredients spread over every flat surface of his small kitchen.

 

Senior was occupied with mixing something in a large bowl, while Tony was wiping down a counter and asking plaintively, “Do you know what you’re doing without a recipe?”

 

“Of course I do. I’m making our traditional snickerdoodles, son, just like we always have at holidays. Christmas, with a beautifully decorated tree…”

 

“You’re making that up. I never had any as a kid. And I don’t remember even having a Christmas tree after Mom died. In fact, I don’t think you were ever at home during the holidays after...”

 

“Well, she made snickerdoodles, and we always had a beautiful tree,” Senior retorted. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Junior. It’s as if you hate any memory of our happy little family.”

 

“For God’s sake, Dad! We never had a happy little–.”

 

“You know what? You always were a contrary child, Anthony, getting in trouble like nobody’s business. I don’t know where she found the patience… We often wondered if the milkman left you on the doorstep, with the extra cream,” Senior said. “Elizabeth was planning on sending you to boarding school on your 11th birthday.”

 

Tony blanched, stricken by his father’s words. “Mom would never do that.”

 

“Are you questioning my word?”

 

Gibbs entered the kitchen before a fight broke out. First thing he did was to instruct Senior to go put his feet up in front of the fire. “Out! We’ll take care of this.”

 

Senior was reluctant. “But Jun– I mean, my _son_ doesn’t know how to cook, much less bake cookies.”

 

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Tony said testily.

 

To Gibbs, Senior demanded, “Have you seen his fridge? Empty except for a bottle of vodka!”

 

“Yeah, and I’ve tasted his cooking, too,” Gibbs replied, implying that it had been pretty bad. “We can still handle this.” He held the door open, and waited for Senior to pass through before letting it swing shut.

 

“You’ve _tasted_ my cooking?” Tony whispered to Gibbs after his dad was out of earshot. “You said that like you hate my cooking! I thought you loved my beef braciole!”

 

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. “I do love it. You want me to tell him the real reason your fridge is empty?” Tony never let anyone know he was a great cook, or that he would only cook on Gibbs’ late 1940s gas range. Plus, it was entirely due to Tony that Gibbs’ pantry stocked with a great deal more than just cans of baked beans.

 

“No, I don’t want you to tell him anything.” Tony pushed the swing door open, just a crack, to take a peek at his father.

 

“He settled?” asked Gibbs, not really caring, except he didn’t want to get interrupted.

 

“Uh, now that he’s found the expensive bourbon, he is,” Tony said.

 

Gibbs muttered under his breath, “Damn.” He didn’t like interlopers, especially those who drank his best booze. He glanced sideways at Tony, only to find him standing with his back to the door, a big smile on his face. Gibbs frowned at him, before turning to see what he could do with the doughy mixture Senior had left behind. “Why’re you looking so happy?”

 

Without warning, Tony’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and Tony exclaimed, “Because we’re finally alone!”

 

Gibbs agreed wholeheartedly, but he looked over his shoulder and cautioned, “He’ll hear you.”

 

“Nah, I think he’s losing his hearing.” Tony leaned over Gibbs’ shoulder and placed a wet kiss on his ear. He asked, speaking quietly, “Is he sleeping in the guest room again tonight?”

 

“Afraid so,” Gibbs grumbled. “I missed you last night.”

 

Tony rested his chin on Gibbs’ shoulder. “You did? Where’d you sleep? I hope it wasn’t the couch again. You know how that messes up your back.”

 

“Good thing I did. I caught your dad sneaking out. Is this dough ready to roll out?” Although Gibbs could follow a recipe, it appeared that Senior hadn’t used one, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

 

“Sneaking out? To meet someone?” Tony asked, amused. He held the bowl into the crook of his arm and stirred it a bit. “We need cream of tartar. And cinnamon. If there’s any allspice left, can you grab that, too?”

 

Tony liked to cook whenever he got the chance, though he stuck to standard meat dishes and pasta for the most part. If pressed, he could bake a decent pie or apple cobbler, using recipes that Jethro’s mother had written out on index cards many years ago. Jackson had given a worn box of recipe cards to them both last Christmas, after Tony had revealed that he and Gibbs were living together. Jackson’s slightly awkward acceptance of their relationship, which had included hugging Tony and calling him ‘son’, had brought tears to Tony’s eyes.

 

“No clue where he was going. He never made it past the fridge,” Gibbs said with a snort, as he located the rest of the ingredients they needed. “He made out he was looking for a glass of milk, so I warmed some up for him.”

 

“You’re such a good watchdog,” Tony said with a smile. He gave Gibbs a one-armed hug before adding the ingredients he’d asked for.

 

“I thought you didn’t know how to make these,” he said, watching Tony’s long fingers expertly manipulating the dough.

 

“I never said that. McGee makes them every holiday, even for the 4th of July. I helped him whip up a batch last Christmas. It isn’t rocket science, Gibbs. Pre-heat to 350.”

 

Gibbs turned the oven on as instructed. “As soon as the Thanksgiving meal is over, I want Senior gone. Him and everyone else, out of here by nine.” He drew Tony towards him. “Can I have a kiss?”

 

“You’re the one who invited him to stay,” Tony reminded Gibbs. He turned his head and kissed him, forgetting for a moment about making the cookies. They enjoyed a long, deep kiss, and when they slowly parted, it was with smiles on their faces. Tony put on a sexy voice, saying, “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make that brandy, sage and sausage stuffing you like so much. I’ll even let you lick the spoon.”

 

“I thought you liked _bad_ boys,” Gibbs retorted, nipping at Tony’s earlobe.

 

“I only like you,” Tony said truthfully. “One bad boy is enough, thank you very much.”

 

Gibbs growled, “So you like me because I’m bad?”

 

“Because you’re you.”

 

Gibbs liked hearing that. He angled his head so he could suck at the skin under Tony’s chin. “Mmmm, and you taste good enough to eat,” he murmured.

 

With a groan, Tony pushed him off, saying breathlessly, “Okay, um…I think you need to…stop right there, before things get…out of hand.”

 

“If you want.” Gibbs reluctantly released the younger man in his arms.

 

“I’m sorry.” Tony glanced nervously over his shoulder at the door. “Dad might walk in on us.”

 

“We wouldn’t want that, would we? Your dad is nothing but trouble,” Gibbs said irritably. A shadow fell over Tony’s face, and he looked away, nodding, as if he’d heard that said a hundred times before. Gibbs immediately regretted his tone, knowing he wasn’t being fair. Senior’s behavior wasn’t Tony’s fault, and he didn’t want Senior to know about their relationship any more than Tony did. Reaching out, Gibbs caught Tony’s flour-covered hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t want that either. Only…I really missed not sleeping with you last night.” In recent years, as his relationship with Tony became established and their love for each other grew stronger, Gibbs found it easier to apologize. He now knew that you could apologize, as well as make it right.

 

Tony’s features softened with a small smile. “I missed you, too. One thing…this year? Let’s have a peaceful, traditional Thanksgiving, all right?” He put the dough in the fridge to chill and quickly whipped up a sugar and cinnamon mix to sprinkle over the cookies later on. “Time 15 minutes, will you?”

 

“If traditional means we don’t catch a case, or one of us ends up in the hospital, I’m all for it,” Gibbs concurred. Last year the team got a call for a double homicide, just as dessert was being put on the table, and it was days before they came up for air. Tony had completely missed the previous Thanksgiving; he’d been unconscious the entire day, after a suspect had rammed his truck into Tony’s car during a pursuit. Now Gibbs looked into Tony’s eyes and saw he also remembered how close he’d come to getting killed. “So yeah, I’d love it if you can make your stuffing,” Gibbs said, delivering a lingering kiss to Tony’s lips. They eventually parted, sighing.

 

“You want to help me?” asked Tony, as he rummaged around in the pantry for the ingredients he needed.

 

Gibbs rinsed the measuring cups and found a couple of bowls. “Sure. The team are bringing side dishes and booze, so all we need to do is the bird.”

 

“I’m sorry Jackson isn’t joining us this year.”

 

“His sister is ailing. He wanted to see her. Here,” said Gibbs, handing Tony the apron he’d offered him when they’d first entered the kitchen. “Why aren’t you wearing this?” Once it was tied around his lover’s waist, it was all work and no play.

 

They’d been together since Gibbs had returned from Mexico, five years ago, and although at first Tony had slept in his condo most nights, it wasn’t long before he was living at Gibbs’ house, full time. Even though he hadn’t lived at his condo in over four years, none of his friends had caught on. Not that they often went there. Tony had only recently decided to sell it, and was waiting for the market to improve. There was no doubt in either Tony’s or Gibbs’ minds that they were in a ‘forever commitment’, as Tony called it. Marriage had been mentioned, but they hadn’t even told their colleagues about their relationship yet. Gibbs was nervous about telling anyone that they were in a serious relationship, and Tony didn’t want to rock the boat, so basically, they were avoiding the issue altogether.

 

It had already been arranged that Gibbs and Tony would spend Christmas with Jackson, if work allowed. Gibbs chuckled. “Can you imagine if my dad ever meets yours? There’ll be fireworks, for sure.”

Tony grinned. “On the other hand, if we could get the two of them in a ring, we’d make a fortune in ticket sales.” He looked to Gibbs for approval, but they both shook their heads at the same time. “No. You’re right. It’s better if they never meet.”

 

By the time the snickerdoodles were coming out of the oven, they had the stuffing mixed and in the fridge, ready to packed inside the turkey in the morning. “Hungry? I’ll order Chinese,” said Gibbs, while Tony pulled out a couple of beers.

 

Senior was asleep in an easy chair, an empty glass on the end table. The fire was burning low, so Gibbs stoked it and added a log while Tony set the table. Even if it was a casual meal, Tony liked placemats and utensils laid out. He was into candles, too, but unscented ones in the dining area; sandalwood or sage candles were for the bedroom.

 

When Senior started to stir, Tony pulled Gibbs back into the kitchen and closed the door. He whispered, “I’m staying here tonight, right?”

 

Gibbs reached out and smacked Tony’s ass, replying softly, “You’d better. Guess sex isn’t an option though.”

 

Tony looked shocked. “Why not?”

 

Gibbs stared. “Uh…’cause you’re usually noisy enough to wake the neighbors?”

 

“Like that’s my fault!” Tony suddenly smiled. “Nobody’ll hear us if we’re in the basement, under the boat, right?”

 

“Huh. It looks like sex _is_ an option, after all,” Gibbs said with a grin.

 

 • T • G • T • G • T • G •

 


	3. In Harm's Way

**CHAPTER 3 - In Harm’s Way**

 

Gibbs made it through dinner without punching Senior, but a couple of times he came really close to decking the guy.

 

The snickerdoodles were out of the oven and on a cooling rack in the kitchen by the time the Chinese food arrived at the door. The three men sat around the dining table to eat, and although it started out well, things went downhill pretty quickly.

 

Senior wouldn’t shut up about Dorneget, apparently expecting Gibbs to promote the junior agent based upon his likable personality. When Tony carefully explained that Dornie didn’t have much field experience yet, Senior’s response was to turn directly to Gibbs and say, “You listen to me. You should take Dornie under your wing, Gibbs. You need someone like him at your side, loyal and smart as a whip. The young man obviously has potential. I don’t understand why you don’t see it.”

 

Gibbs was about to retort that he sure as hell didn’t need Senior to tell him what he needed, when Tony made a sound of exasperation. “So what am I, Dad? Chopped liver?” At his father’s quizzical look, Tony spelled it out. “I’m Gibbs’ senior field agent. Have been for years, remember? And before that, I was a cop, and they gave me a shiny gold shield and a real gun and everything.”

 

“Don’t you get lippy with me, young man,” Senior scolded.

 

“Now you look here,” Gibbs said, starting to rise.

 

“Boss…” Tony said in warning, meeting Gibbs’ eyes and letting him know he’d handle it.

 

Gibbs sat back down with a grunt. He crossed his arms and blew out an annoyed breath.

 

Senior sent a perplexed look at Gibbs before turning to Tony. “It’s not as if you’re going to remain at NCIS much longer, son.”

 

Tony stared at his dad. “What’re you talking about?”

 

“C’mon, we all know you flit from one job to another, from one city to another. Like you do with all those girls you date. It’s short term with you, always has been, from the time you were a kid.” Tony started to protest but his father held up a hand. “Believe me, I get it. I’ve spent most of my years traveling around, and been out with more women... I could tell you stories…”

 

“Please don’t,” Tony said quickly.

 

“Jesus,” Gibbs muttered under his breath.

 

Senior blithely continued, “I know you, Junior. You’re just like me. We’re sharks, always moving forward, looking for the next best thing.”

 

Tony was aghast at his father’s view of him. He objected, “I’m not a predator!” Turning to Gibbs, he repeated, “Gibbs, I’m _not_!”

 

“For God’s sake, Junior! You’ve always been a dreamer–.”

 

Gibbs slammed his hand down on the table. “You listen here, Chief! Tony’s not like you, and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere. If you dare to–”

 

Tony was able to reach Gibbs’s hand under the cover of the table. He held on tight, trying to keep the lid on things. “What Gibbs means, Dad, is that I’m settled here, and I love my job. I’ve got my team – they’re my family. I’m exactly where I want to be. I don’t know where you got the idea that this is temporary, but I haven’t given any thought to moving on for a long time. I might have been a little footloose at one time, but not any more, and I was never looking for the next best thing. I was looking for…for what was best for me.” Tony risked a glance at Gibbs when he added, “And I’ve found it. So no more talk about Gibbs replacing me, okay?”

 

Gibbs gave Tony’s hand a squeeze, wishing he could do more, like drag Tony up to their bedroom and make hot, noisy love to him. But with Senior looking on, it was impossible to even talk to him.

 

Senior looked skeptical. “If you say so, Junior. Look, we can talk again as soon as the ownership of Stoney Ridge Estates has been straightened out. You’d make a great salesman, just like your old man. With some training from me, of course. We’re building these incredible 7 million dollar homes around the golf course…Well, you’ve seen our model home, 8,000 square feet, pool, sauna, eight huge bedrooms with marble bathrooms, everything top of the line, with–”

 

Tony interrupted, “What do you mean, about the ownership of Stoney Ridge getting straightened out?”

 

“That’s what we’re working on,” Senior explained. “Time is money, and we have a multi-million dollar venture here, with all our investors waiting for a return on their money.”

 

“Who is ‘we’?” asked Tony.

 

“The planning and project management team,” Senior replied, as if that was obvious.

 

Gibbs thought it sounded like Senior was bullshitting them. He pointed out, “If the Navy decides they don’t have a use for the property, and they decide to sell it, it’s not going to happen anytime soon.” He doubted the Navy would want the Stoney Ridge land; the tract was in an inconvenient location for Navy business, and was zoned for residential. However, the government never did anything quickly if it involved funds, which made him wonder why DiNozzo Sr. was so confident that the development of Stoney Ridge was going to proceed as planned.

 

Senior gave a self-satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, it’s all being taken care of. I can’t reveal any details, but rest assured, the development is only temporarily on hold. We have firm plans to bring Stoney Ridge to a reality, and believe me, after all the work I’ve done acquiring quality investors, I’m not going to miss getting my share of the pie. It’s my retirement, and your inheritance, son.”

 

“Thought you lost out on your commission,” Gibbs said, not bothering to hide his contempt. He’d seen the video with Senior losing his cool when Lt. Massey told him he wasn’t getting a penny out of him. Massey’s lawyer had been irate, too, over getting fired from a lucrative job and being removed as executor of his sizable estate. That was the motive for plotting Lt. Massey’s death. Three very angry men: one dead, one in jail and the other one currently seated at Gibbs’ table. Funny how Senior always managed to come out on top.

 

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Senior said, looking pleased with himself. He stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks for the meal. Good sesame shrimp. Soon as I can, I’ll treat you boys to a fine dinner at the Capitol Grille. Now, I’m heading upstairs if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few calls to make.”

 

The minute Tony’s father was out of sight, Gibbs headed into the kitchen, pushing the hinged door so hard it swung back and forth several times before settling. Tony joined him, taking him in his arms while saying softly, “C’mon, don’t let him get to you. He’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’ll be back to normal. Not that we’re exactly normal…maybe Abby-normal?”

 

“Is he arrogant or just clueless?” Gibbs ground out.

 

Tony laughed despite the lack of humor in the situation. “Uh…both? He’s also single-minded. He sees something he wants and he’s like Zsa Zsa Gabor chasing after a diamond necklace. Never takes his eye off the prize. The good thing he is, if Dad wasn’t so focused on himself, he’d probably have figured out we’re a couple by now.” Tony took Gibbs’ face between his hands and kissed him with love and the kind of ease that came with familiarity.

 

Gibbs melted into him, pulling Tony closer, angling his head just so, coaxing his lips apart with tenderness that came from his heart. Slowly, Tony released him, sighing happily. Gibbs buried his face in Tony’s neck, needing to voice his fear that the day Senior discovered his son was gay, and living with him, there’d be hell to pay. “If he finds out, he’s going to be an ass.”

 

“Probably,” Tony said with a weary chuckle. “Maybe our luck will hold, if we’re careful. After all, so far we’ve managed to keep this to ourselves for five years, even though we’re surrounded by a lot of good investigators. Just… don’t kill him, okay?”

 

Gibbs looked into Tony’s eyes and told him the truth. “I can’t promise you that.”

 

After a moment, Tony nodded. He understood. “Let’s clean up and go down the basement. We can work on your boat together,” he said with a smirk.

 

“I seem to remember that the last time you tried to help, you bent one of the boat’s ribs.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me so hard against the hull, then,” Tony replied, smiling at the memory.

 

“Maybe we just need to practice some more. Fucking against the boat, I mean. It’s all about the angle and torque.” Gibbs said with a straight face.

 

Tony immediately headed into the dining room, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll clear the table if you take out the garbage.”

 

They spent the night under the boat, a tarp pulled down around them, forming a cozy tent. They had an inflatable mattress and blankets, even some pillows. Tony liked his creature comforts, and soon after their first time making love in the basement, years ago, he’d gathered all the bedding they would need “the next time, because there’s nothing the slightest bit romantic about making love on a cold, damp cement floor,” and stored everything in the cedar closet under the stairs. There had been many ‘next times’ since then, and although both men preferred their comfortable king bed upstairs, they sometimes found that sleeping under the boat was a nice change.

 

  * T • G • T • G • T • G •



 

Tony, dressed casually in a fine wool sweater and dark jeans, spoke to Gibbs as he pulled on his winter jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as they take Morgan Hunt off our hands,” he promised, giving Gibbs a quick peck on the cheek. “McGee says they’re scheduled to pick him up around 11, but they may run late.”

 

“Turkey’s gonna be done at 1400,” Gibbs reminded him.

 

“Plenty of time. Call me if you need me to pick up anything on the way home,” Tony added as he headed out the door.

 

Around 11 o’clock, Gibbs was cleaning out the ashes and laying a new fire when Senior stopped to inform him that he was heading out for a while. “Meeting someone. I’ll be back for the Thanksgiving meal, of course. I’m looking forward to seeing the girls.”

 

Gibbs grunted to let Senior know he’d heard him, but didn’t bother to ask where he was going.

 

While the house was quiet for a few hours, Gibbs took the opportunity to get some woodworking done. He was making a special bedside table for Tony – special because it had a secret panel underneath that was designed to hold a handgun. Just flip the hidden catch and the hinged panel dropped down to make the gun easily accessible. It just seemed like the kind of thing Tony would get a kick out of, and Gibbs liked making things for him.

 

He’d gotten a lot of work done, and was busy sanding down the legs, when the front door slammed so hard the jars of nails on the workbench rattled. Gibbs stopped what he was doing and looked up. He could hear heavy footsteps as someone walked quickly across the living room and into the kitchen. Tony’s footsteps, he quickly determined. Gibbs had expected him at one, and their guests were going to arrive in less than an hour. He wondered what had kept him.

 

Tony shouted, “Dad? Where are you? I need to talk to you!”

 

From the sound of Tony’s steps, Gibbs deduced he was heading upstairs to look for his father. There was more calling out for his dad, and then, back on the ground floor, Tony said loudly, “Where the hell is he?” The basement door opened and Tony called, “You down there, Gibbs?”

 

“I’m here,” Gibbs replied, wondering what had gotten Tony so riled up. His father, obviously, but what had Senior done now? Gibbs quickly moved the nightstand off the workbench and hid it behind a large cardboard box. He tossed a sheet over it and hoped that Tony wouldn’t spot it.

 

Tony clattered down the stairs and strode over to where Gibbs was trying to look busy, sanding his boat. “Where is he?” Tony demanded.

 

Gibbs wiped his hands on a rag and said calmly, “He left around 11. Said he was meeting someone.”

 

“Who?” Tony demanded.

 

Gibbs scratched his jaw and said, “From the expensive-smelling aftershave he was wearing, I’d say it was a woman.”

 

“He say where he was going?” Tony asked.

 

“Nope. He must have called a cab. What’s up?” He hated the way, every time Senior made an appearance, Tony got bent out of shape. Tony didn’t often get thoroughly pissed off though, not like this. Something bad must have happened. Considering they’d just gotten Senior off the hook for murder, anything was possible.

 

Tony made a frustrated sound and paced a few feet away. He swung back, his eyes glittering as he said, “He lied! Lied to us!”

 

Since DiNozzo Sr. lied as a matter of course, Gibbs wasn’t surprised to learn Tony had caught him at it. What did surprise him, and was of some concern, was the state of agitation that Tony was in. Gibbs reached out and squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs and you can tell me about it.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Gibbs said firmly, “I need to check on the turkey.”

 

By the time Gibbs had basted the turkey and fiddled with the oven, Tony had removed his coat and was sitting at the kitchen table. “Coffee?” Gibbs asked as he poured himself a mugful, but Tony waved away the pot. Gibbs got the younger man a glass of water, and sat facing him. Tony held onto the glass and stared at it, looking as though he was dealing with warring emotions. Not surprising; he cared about his father, but hated his shady deals and propensity for landing in serious trouble.

 

After he’d taken a sip of his coffee, Gibbs prompted, “What’d he do this time?”

 

Tony ran his fingers through his hair and he released a deep sigh. “We had to wait ages for the prisoner transfer to go through, so I figured I may as well read the case files.” Before Gibbs could voice his disapproval, Tony raised a hand. “I know, I can’t touch the case. I didn’t go near the evidence or anything. I just sat at my desk and read the reports, okay?”

 

Gibbs asked, “You see something?”

 

Tony nodded. “Oh yeah. I saw a photo of Lt. Massey’s wife, from her driver’s license. I mean, his ex-wife. She goes her maiden name: Gwen Van Buren.”

 

“Yeah? You gonna tell me the wife always does it?”

 

“No. Not exactly.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“As soon as I saw her picture, I realized I knew her, from when we were kids, on Long Island.”

 

Gibbs asked, “You knew her. So, your father knew her, too?”

 

“He knew Gwen well enough, before she was every married,” Tony said. “And it looks like they know each other _very_ well these days.”

 

“And Senior never thought to mention this to us?” Gibbs’ mind raced to figure out what this could mean to the case they’d just closed, if anything. He went over the background info they’d collected on Ms. Gwen Van Buren: divorced from their victim, no kids. She had a background in interior design and real estate, and had encouraged her then-husband, Lt. Massey, to get into property development when they moved to the DC area.

 

“’Fraid not. But then we never asked, did we?” Tony said sarcastically.

 

“Tell me what you know about her,” Gibbs ordered, going into work mode.

 

“The Van Burens lived down the street from us, in Great Neck. Our parents enjoyed cocktails and golf at the same country club. Gwen, her brothers and me, we all went to the Highlands School together. She was a couple years younger than me, real cute, blond, full of life. Smart, too. Got top grades. I was on the lacrosse team with her older brother until I was sent to military school. We were at each other’s houses all the time, growing up. So yeah, we knew each other. Dad must have reconnected with her at some point.”

 

Tony seemed lost in thought for a bit, but then he looked up at Gibbs, his expression sad. “I came home from college my freshman year, just for a short visit, hoping to mend some fences with my father. Thought I’d surprise him. I walked in on my dad having sex with Gwennie on our living room couch. Turns out they were celebrating her sixteenth birthday,” he said sourly.

 

 • T • G • T • G • T • G •

 


	4. I'm Right Behind

**CHAPTER 4 - I’m Right Behind**

 

Gibbs could tell Tony wasn’t finished. He sipped his coffee and waited patiently even though he wanted to go find Senior and beat him to a pulp.

 

“So I’m standing there like an idiot, with my mouth hanging open, and they see me, and break apart.” Tony’s eyes held a faraway look. “I leave the room, but I can hear Gwen telling my dad it’s been really wonderful with an older man, but now she thinks they should just be friends.” Tony gave a harsh laugh. “Can you imagine? I’ll just bet calling him an old man is what set him off.”

 

Gibbs hated Senior more at that moment than he thought possible. He reached over and laid his hand on Tony’s forearm, and gave Tony time to breathe before prompting, “Set him off? What happened?”

 

Tony gave Gibbs a small smile and shrugged. “Before she was even out the door, Senior turned on me. Man, was he mad! Normally I’d be cowering in a closet somewhere, but at that moment I realized that I wasn’t a kid any more, so I stood up to him. I told him what a pervert he was, taking advantage of a girl young enough to be his daughter. I was screaming at him, I was so… _angry_. My mistake, bringing up the age difference.” Tony laughed humorlessly and raised a hand to his jaw. “He sucker-punched me. When I came to, I was lying on the floor with Gwen crying over me. Dear Dad had left; probably headed for the nearest bar.”

 

“Tony…”

 

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I wouldn’t have even have thought about it, but Gwen’s picture brought it all back. Anyhow, Gwen saw him hit me and was brave enough to come to my aid. I threw up all over the place. I couldn’t drive, seeing double. She took care of me, even though I should have been taking care of her. She drove me to her family’s house – parents were away for the weekend – and tried to get me to see a doctor. In the end, she gave up and left me to sleep it off. A couple of days later I headed back to Ohio, and we never set eyes on each other again. Honestly, I doubt my father remembers anything about it. He was drinking heavily in those days.” Tony sighed and held his head in his hands. “Jesus.”

 

Gibbs wished he could take the bad memories away. He went over his agents’ reports in his head. “Ms. Van Buren’s been divorced from Massey for four years.”

 

Tony agreed. “Gwen told Ziva she’d had nothing to do with her ex since the divorce.”

 

There hadn’t been anything suspicious about the woman, Ziva had said, only by the sharp look in Tony’s eyes, Gibbs could tell that he’d found something. “But?”

 

Tony said, “Ms. Van Buren said her husband loved money and jets. He became obsessed with making money. She described Massey as being ruthless.”   


“Yeah, I know all this,” Gibbs said impatiently.

 

Unfazed at Gibbs’ brusque tone, Tony continued, “Ms. Van Buren told Ziva that she, and I quote, ‘Made out okay,’ in the divorce settlement. McGee checked out her financials and confirmed she was financially set, as she claimed. No red flags.”

 

“She has no claim on Massey’s estate,” Gibbs added, wondering what this was all about.

 

Tony said, sounding satisfied, “No, she doesn’t.”

 

“And?”

 

“McGee and I found out that Gwen lied about her relationship with her ex-husband. She was his silent partner in the Stoney Ridge project. _And_ she shared joint access with Lt. Massey in the account holding all the investors’ money.”

 

“Partner? How did we not know this?”

 

Tony said, “It was a very well-kept secret. McGee thinks their lawyer, Morgan Hunt, managed to hide her name from all the records, maybe for tax purposes. We’ll have to question him again. By the time we found out, he’d already been transferred.” He took a breath and continued, “Anyway, it turns out that Lt. Massey’s ownership of Stoney Ridge Country Club Estates is limited to the buildings alone. Gwen holds the paper on the land they’re building on. They’ve been working together all along. Gwen has had a hand in designing some similar high-end estates before, for other builders, and very successfully. I get the feeling she isn’t about to let her ex-husband’s death interfere with her plans to complete this one.”

 

“And this joint account?” Gibbs asked, knowing what the answer was likely to be.

 

“We only got the warrant to inspect it an hour ago, but McGee discovered that on the night that Lt. Massey died, someone accessed the Stoney Ridge Estate’s investor account. We’re talking millions of dollars here, transferred to an offshore bank in the Caymans. Okay, ask me how I know this. Go on,” he urged.

 

Gibbs played along, driven by curiosity. “I’m all ears.”

 

Tony leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Do you know that my dad is a man of habits? He always uses the same tailor, drinks the same single-malt scotch, stays at the Adams House when he’s in DC, and he _always_ names his shell companies some derivative of my mother’s name, Elizzabeth. Spelled with two zees, by the way. He likes to bank in the Caymans, and never fails to use Mom’s birthday as his password. I’m not supposed to know all this, obviously, but I played Junior Detective a lot when I was a kid. Dad just _happened_ to leave his password book out one day, and I looked through it.”

 

When Senior had been held in custody, a suspect in the murder of Lt. Massey, Gibbs had told him he wasn’t going anywhere. “Your father was upset with us holding him. He said he had a non-refundable ticket to St.Croix that afternoon.” It was an easy hop from one island to another.

 

Tony said, “So, while we were waiting for the marshals to arrive to transfer Morgan Hunt, McComputerWhiz and I did some deeper digging.”

 

“Following the money?”

 

“Actually, the trail was pretty well hidden, so while McGeek was working on it from our end, I started at the other end. It wasn’t hard. I just looked for any international company with the name Elizz, and found Elizz Holdings, with two zees, registered in St. Croix. There’s a bank account to match at the Cayman National Bank. It took a little number crunching, but I figured out the password,” Tony said, with a self-satisfied smile. “It looks like there’s almost 60 _million_ dollars salted away in my dad’s bank account, and you can damned well bet that money isn’t his. I’m sure it’s investors’ contributions – who, by the way, include the esteemed Prince Omar Ibn Alwaan. Right now, McGee is getting together the proof that Ms. Van Buren, with the help of my father, transferred it to the Caymans.”

 

“That’s a lot of money,” Gibbs said. No wonder Tony had come in, irate about his father misleading them – okay, outright lying – about his involvement with Stoney Ridge. It was starting to look like Mr. DiNozzo was far more than the go-to man for lassoing wealthy investors.

 

There was a light knock on the front door and a minute later, McGee appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Am I interrupting?”

 

Tony waved him over. “Going over everything with Gibbs.”

McGee sat and Tony gave him a briefing of what he’d told Gibbs so far.

 

“Where’s Senior now?” Gibbs asked.

 

McGee replied, “His phone must be turned off, Boss, but I have a snooper agent pinging cell towers, so when he does turn it on, I’ll get a message on my phone.”

 

“And Ms. Van Buren?”

 

“Same thing,” McGee said. “She lives in Rosemont, not far from here. Maybe they’ll ping together,” he suggested with a smirk. “You want us to go pick them up?”

 

Gibbs glared at Tony and McGee. “You two ever think to pick up a phone and tell me what you were up to this morning?”

 

McGee glanced at Tony and shrugged. “We wanted to make sure before we presented it to you. You know, get whatever evidence we could, and…”

 

“So you thought you’d just drop it all in my lap at one time?” Gibbs frowned at his two agents.

 

Not looking at all bashful, the two men said, as one, “Yep.”

 

Gibbs sighed and shook his head. Looked like his agents were over-achievers, determined to bring the boss a prize, all wrapped up in a neat bow. “Okay,” he relented. “Before I send someone to round them up, you want to tell me the rest of it?”

 

“You mean you’re going to send someone else?” Tony asked, disappointed.

 

“Ya think?” asked Gibbs, before turning his attention to McGee.

 

McGee said, “We brought in Ms. Van Buren’s personal assistant, Maryanne Jessup, for a chat this morning.”

 

“You did, did you?” Gibbs asked, wondering what else they’d been up to.

 

Tony looked at McGee, saying, “I didn’t get around to telling him that yet. She had all sorts of insider info, Boss.”

 

McGee agreed with a nod. “According to Ms. Jessup, Lt. Massey threatened to pull the plug on the development deal; he didn’t want to work with his ex-wife any more. Apparently she didn’t include him in any decisions, ran up huge bills, and basically did whatever she wanted. Sounds like she was as ambitious as he was.”

 

“Gwen had very specific ideas about the design,” Tony pointed out. “She and Massey couldn’t agree on anything. They fought all the time. Massey hated that she had the upper hand, which she did, because he was building on her land. He was looking for another site, but hadn’t had any luck. Plus, it was Gwen who introduced my father to her ex, got him the job of finding funding for the project. Lt. Massey did _not_ like him, according to Maryanne.”

 

Despite the fact that Tony was doing his best to build a case against his own father, he seemed to be amused by his activities. Gibbs asked, “So the Navy doesn’t stand to inherit anything from Massey, after all?”

 

McGee explained, “Well, some. Massey had money in investments other than real estate development, but the as far as Stoney Ridge goes, it’s a wash for the Navy. It looks like Ms. Van Buren can continue with the project on her own. No ex-husband to deal with any more. After all, she already has investors lined up, courtesy of Mr. DiNozzo. The money is safely in the Caymans account, also courtesy of Mr. DiNozzo, and now Massey is conveniently out of the way. Maybe… courtesy of Mr. DiNozzo?” He glanced at Tony and pulled a face. “Sorry, Tony.”

 

“It’s okay. I’m surprised Senior is still a free man, considering all the shady deals he’s been involved in over the years,” Tony said, with a tight smile. “It’s just… Look, there’s no way my dad killed Lt. Massey.” Tony looked at Gibbs and asked, “Right?”

 

Gibbs sighed. “Morgan Hunt killed Lt. Massey, and your father was set up to take the fall. Even if Senior had both a business and personal relationship with Massey’s ex-wife, there’s nothing to indicate he was involved in Massey’s death. Unless you’ve found evidence to the contrary?”

 

McGee shook his head. “No, no evidence. And I don’t think Senior even had the opportunity to move the money to the Caymans. He got drugged around 9 p.m. that night, then was left in the Rolls at the construction site. He was in our custody right from the moment we discovered him near the body until last night, Boss.”

 

Tony added, “We think while the lawyer was busy murdering his employer, Gwen accessed the investors’ funds and transferred them to the Caymans herself.”

 

McGee explained, “You can transfer money in with only the account number. Just can’t get it out without the password.”

 

Tony agreed, “So, while Hunt was bashing the lieutenant’s head in with the Chatêau la Clare, and my father was out cold in the Rolls, Gwen was busy transferring the investors’ money.”

 

“Transferring the money into the account Mr. DiNozzo set up was irregular,” McGee added. “There will probably be some legal issues with it.”

 

“Looks like all your father did was have an offshore account,” said Gibbs. There was nothing criminal about that.

 

Tony leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But Gibbs, if Dad’s on the up and up, why bother to lie to you, and to me, too, about his involvement with Gwen? And about the money?”

 

“C’mon, Tony, Senior’s been around the block long enough to know he shouldn’t reveal anything to anyone that isn’t to his advantage,” Gibbs scoffed. “And it wasn’t on the up and up, was it?”

 

Tony shook his head. “With millions at stake, Dad would profit from having the lieutenant out of the way. I’m sure he’s making a hell of a lot more than a finder’s fee for arranging the offshore banking.”

 

McGee reminded them, “Ms. Van Buren had motive. Lt. Massey was fighting her every step of the way, and the project had had so many delays due to what she called ‘ his interference,’ that the investors were getting antsy. The deal was in danger of going down the drain.”

 

Gibbs asked, “This assistant, Maryanne, told you all this, or are you two grasping at straws?”

 

Tony asserted, “She told us, Boss. She’s the kid of girl who listens at keyholes. Look, don’t you think that with so much money at stake, Gwen would go to any lengths to get rid of her ex-husband?”

 

“The lawyer killed Lt. Massey,” Gibbs pointed out, once more.

 

Tony mused, “Well, somebody a bug in the lawyer’s ear, told him he was about to lose his cushy job as executor at any moment. You wrote that in your report, but never said who. If the lieutenant was out of the way, Ms. Van Buren would hire him to oversee all the legal side of Stoney Ridge. He’d make millions. All he had to do was…”

 

“Murder the lieutenant,” Gibbs supplied.

 

“Exactly. And we really don’t know if Gwen put a hit out on her ex, or if she was more hands-on. For all we know, she handed Hunt the wine bottle and watched him take out the lieutenant. At this point, I wouldn’t put it past my father to have planned the whole thing.”

 

Gibbs leaned forward and had a good, hard look at Tony, not saying anything for so long that Tony began to squirm and look sideways at McGee. Eventually Gibbs asked, "What's goin on with you, DiNozzo?”

 

"What d'you mean?" Tony asked nervously.

 

"Well, you went way out on a limb to prove your dad didn't kill Lt. Massey. Now you're raising all these questions. You change your mind? Think Senior had a hand in it? Think maybe he was behind it all? Maybe he was the one to hit Massey over the head with that bottle of wine he’d been saving all these years for some special occasion?"

 

“No, no!” Tony shook his head and said quietly, “No. Abby found traces of drugs in his system. Although, I’d bet you Abby could tell you that even that could be faked.”

 

McGee stared at Tony, his eyes wide. “Tony, you don’t really think…”

 

Tony looked away, then raised his eyes to meet Gibbs'. "I don't want to..." His words trailed off, then he tried again. "Look, I think my father colluded with Gwen to ensure that Stoney Ridge Estates will be a success, with or without Massey. Dad worked hard to raise all that money from investors – that’s 60 million dollars in that offshore account. And now Massey is dead, and his lawyer is in jail, nobody's around to question the finances.”

 

“Except us.” McGee pointed out.

 

Tony said, “Okay, but I'll bet Gwen away with a slap on her wrist, and she manages to build an incredible, top-end golf course community. She’ll sell all the properties, the investors will get a nice return on their investment, and they'll be more than satisfied. She’s going to make an enormous profit, and Dad is finally going to get the cut he thinks he deserves. I think that either Senior or Gwen told the lawyer that he was about to be fired and got him all riled up, mad enough to kill Lt. Massey for them. I’m sure my father never expected to be given a roofie and have a murder pinned on him though." Tony sighed tiredly. "I'll tell you this much: my dad lied to me about the extent of his involvement with Gwen, and he wasn’t just avoiding talking about her because he knew I’d remember him having sex with a minor. He was lying to _us_ , in our capacity as federal agents, in an effort to minimize his involvement with the company and its finances. His lies could have easily side-railed our case, and I can't…I just can’t overlook that. I can’t forgive him for that." Tony gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Funny, after all the crap my dad’s pulled over the years, that this is the time it’s really gotten to me."

 

“One straw too many,” McGee said, nodding. “He’s never been involved in a murder before. Well, except for that time when Prince Omar Ibn Alwaan’s son was... Never mind.”

 

"You went above and beyond for him, Tony," Gibbs pointed out. He could see that Tony was upset, though he was holding it all in right now. Tonight, he’d probably break down, pace around while ranting, and even yell and kick at the walls. But when Tony was done, has it out of his system. Gibbs would step in and make sure he was taken care of. He’d comfort Tony and be his rock, do whatever he needed.

 

"Yeah, well, it won't happen again. I've thought about it, and... I don't want him in my life. I don’t want to be used by him. Not any more,” Tony said, looking straight at Gibbs.

 

McGee looked from Tony to Gibbs, and asked tentatively, “Who’s going to question Mr. DiNozzo and Ms. Van Doren?”

Tony snorted. “Senior will never admit to anything, McOptimistic. He’ll say that Gwen got him to transfer the money, and that he didn’t know where it came from. He’ll do everything he can to wiggle out of any charges; he’ll wheedle and lie through his teeth.” Tony cocked his head and looked at Gibbs. “You know, we could get out the thumbscrews. He can’t stand any kind of pain.”

 

“Hey, you get me those thumbscrews and a soundproofed room, and give me ten minutes, and I’ll get him to confess anything,” Gibbs said with a smirk.

 

“I’m serious,” Tony insisted.

 

“You think I’m not?” Gibbs leaned forward and gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze. “You said it yourself, your father may be a lot of things, but he's not a murderer. He’s a con man, and it looks like he’s finally hit that jackpot he’s been chasing his whole life. Unfortunately for him, I don’t think he’s going to be able to keep it.” Gibbs rose to his feet. “I’m going to call the FBI in on this.”

 

McGee protested, “But it’s our case.”

 

“Not any more,” Gibbs asserted.

 

Tony seemed defeated when he asked, “And my dad?”

 

“Maybe his luck will hold and he’ll avoid charges if he cooperates,” Gibbs said. Personally, he’d like to see DiNozzo Sr. end up in prison, but he had a feeling that would hurt Tony as much as it would Senior. “McGee, check your pinging tracker thingy and find Mr. DiNozzo. And the woman, too. We’ll let Fornell handle bringing them in.”

 

McGee said, “Sorry, Tony,” and Tony shrugged one shoulder as if he didn’t care.

 

 • T • G • T • G • T • G •

 


	5. Now Say You're Mine

**CHAPTER 5 - Now Say You’re Mine**

 

While Gibbs was calling Fornell, McGee fetched his laptop from his car and took a seat in the living room, working on the coffee table. “I can access another cell phone tracker from my computer,” he told Tony.

 

While Tim was concentrating on the search, Tony watched over his shoulder. Within a few minutes, he looked out the window and said, “Looks like Ziva and Abby are here.” He went to open the door for the two women, who breezed in, carrying several large containers covered in tin foil. They immediately cautioned Tony that several dishes were hot, and Abby needed some space in the kitchen, and could they put the rolls in the oven?

 

Just as Tony hushed them, saying Gibbs was making a call in the kitchen, Gibbs came out, holding his cell phone aloft. “You his location yet, McGee?”

“Yeah, I got a ping on my phone,” he said, typing rapidly on the keyboard without looking up. “One minute…got it! Oh, he’s at Ms. Van Buren’s house, in Rosemont.” McGee looked up at Gibbs. “You sure you want me to send the address to Fornell?”

 

“Hell, I’ve already ruined his Thanksgiving dinner,” Gibbs said. He spoke into his cell. “It’s on the way. Yeah, I’m sure. Go get ‘em.”

 

Having deposited her contribution to the Thanksgiving dinner in the kitchen, Ziva joined Tony and McGee. “What is going on?”

 

Abby sat next to Tim, leaning against him so she could get a good look at his laptop screen. She also demanded to know the details, but before Tony could explain, Ducky and Palmer arrived. They came in loaded with wine and beer, a basket of cheese and grapes, and a large jar of locally made McCutcheon’s cranberry jelly. Gibbs steered the new arrivals into the dining room, allowing Tony and Tim to give Ziva and Abby a rundown on what was going on.

 

Abby’s eyes were wide with disbelief, and several times she interjected that “Senior would never do that,” and, “He wouldn’t, he’s Tony’s _father_ ,” and finally, “Gibbs has to fix this!”

 

Ziva’s expression grew darker by the minute, though she, too, questioned if they were quite sure, which made Tony angry enough to say, “No, we’re just making this all up, to prank you, Ziva! It’s a well known Thanksgiving tradition!” At her perplexed expression, he threw his hands in the air and declared, “Damn it, of _course_ we’re sure!”

 

Tim stepped in to calm Tony down and told the women to stop questioning their judgment. “We’re not going to be handling this. It’s too close to home,” he said, indicating Tony, who had gone to sit in an armchair with his head in his hands. “Gibbs has arranged for Fornell to deal with Mr. DiNozzo and Ms. Van Buren, so let’s just drop this, okay?”

 

The women agreed, and although Abby was eying Tony dubiously, she went over to give him a hug. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I always thought you exaggerated those stories about your father.”

 

Tony shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it.”

 

Abby held him tightly, saying fervently, “Well, if he thinks he can get away with this, whatever it is he’s done, he’s got another thing coming.” Tony raised his eyes to question her sudden turnaround, and Abby rolled her eyes. “You don’t think we’re going to let anyone hurt a family member, do you?”

 

Tony gave her a small smile and said, “Of course not. Thanks, Abbs.”

 

Ziva asked, "Has anyone searched his room? Mr. DiNozzo is staying here, is he not?"

 

Gibbs motioned with his hand and said, "Go for it."

 

A few minutes later Ziva and Tim came down. "Nothing," said Tim.

 

"Nothing incriminating, although we could find something, if you wish," Ziva said darkly. She caught Tony looking askance at her; she shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I do not like anyone on my team being hurt or flamboozled.”

 

“Bamboozled,” Tony corrected.

 

“Flim-flammed,” suggested Tim. “I got his passport,” he said, waving it at Gibbs, who took it for safekeeping.

 

Palmer, who had been watching silently from the sidelines, suggested, “Hornswaggled?”

 

Ziva frowned at nobody in particular. “I still do not like it.”

 

It was Ducky who asked Gibbs, “Will it be necessary to run this by the director?”

 

“ _You_ want to bother him on Thanksgiving?” Gibbs asked. He called Fornell back, heading into the small den next to the kitchen, the only quiet place in the house. Between them they decided the FBI would hold the two suspects at their offices until they could be interrogated.

 

“We can hold them for a few hours, question them tonight,” Fornell suggested.

 

“On a full stomach?” Gibbs complained. “I’ll be there with everything we have on our case, but I can’t get involved in this one.” Fornell understood and didn’t give Gibbs too hard a time. Gibbs emerged from the den to the delicious smell of roast turkey.

 

Tony looked up from removing the big bird from the oven. “The thermometer popped up already.”

 

“Okay. Just set it on the stovetop,” Gibbs directed. He turned to the dinner guests who were hovering in near kitchen and requested, “Give us a few minutes, okay?” Without waiting for a response, he pushed Palmer and Ziva out and shut the door behind them.

 

Tony asked, “What’re we doing? We’re not…eating? Are we going to meet up with Fornell?”

 

“No, we’re not joining Fornell.” Gibbs gently held Tony’s face between both hands, and gave him a brief kiss. “We are going to sit down at the table with our friends, and eat a damned fine Thanksgiving dinner. That’s what we’re gonna do.”

 

“Eat? At a time like this?” Tony demanded. “And you shouldn’t be doing that! No touching or anything when people are around.” He moved just out of Gibbs’ reach and folded his arms over his chest, clearly unhappy.

 

“The FBI is handling it. Let’s just… _let_ them. For once. Please, Tony,” Gibbs asked.

 

Tony thought through the situation, and eventually he nodded. “Okay, but…this just feels so…so surreal. I don’t know how to deal with this. I felt…almost _excited_ when I recognized Gwen’s photo, and then when we talked it through, and it started to look like my dad might have…Now I feel betrayed, and worried, and I think I hate him… Shit, I don’t know what to think any more.”

 

“There’s no good way to deal with this, and no matter what happens, I want you to remember, this has nothing to do with you.”

 

Tony stared at Gibbs. “What’re you talking about?”

 

“You have a way of blaming yourself,” Gibbs said truthfully.

 

“I’m not…I’m not blaming myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel responsible.”

 

“What the hell part of all this are responsible for, Tony?” Gibbs asked angrily. “This man has done next to nothing for you, your entire life! He hasn’t been a father to you. He’s neglected you, never a word of encouragement or support… Don’t you tell me you’re responsible for him because I won’t hear it!”

 

“I can’t help it! He’s my _father_!”

 

“The father who lied to you, to _us_ , which, as I seem to recall, had you stomping around here as angry as a wasp, not two hours ago!” Gibbs asked, his voice raised, “Do you think, for one minute, that man would lift a finger to help you if you were in need?”

 

“I don’t know that…Okay, no, he wouldn’t, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“B-but there has to b-be a…” Tony shook his head, his chin trembling.

 

“There has to be what?”

 

“A…a…” Tony was breathing fast, his eyes widening in panic.

 

“Tony! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s all right,” Gibbs said, taking Tony in his arms. Tony pushed at him but didn’t get beyond the circle of his arms. “Take slow breaths. C’mon, breathe with me. That’s it, slow and deep. That’s my boy.” It took a few minutes, but Tony’s breathing evened out and he managed to avoid an all-out panic attack.

 

Tony swallowed and said, his voice rough, “There has to b-be a reason.”

 

“For what? For his behavior?” Gibbs asked, his tone much more gentle.

 

Distressed, Tony shook his head. His eyes, when he lifted them to meet Gibbs’ were shiny with unshed tears. “There h-has to be a reason why h-he never loved me,” Tony said in a small voice.

 

Gibbs enfolded Tony in his arms again, hating Senior so much he was shaking with anger. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

 

Tony asked, “You…you all right?”

 

“I’m fine. Just…I love you, Tony, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that, or forget it,” said Gibbs, searching Tony’s eyes to make sure he understood the depth of his feelings.

 

Tony stroked Gibbs’ face, from temple to jawline with his fingers, lightly and reverently. “What d’you think keeps me going?” he asked in a whisper. He dropped his forehead to rest on Gibbs’ shoulder, and Gibbs held him close, running his hand up and down Tony’s back.

 

There was a scratching sound at the kitchen door. It opened a couple of inches to reveal Abby, looking concerned as well as curious. “Do you want us to leave?” she asked, sounding unusually subdued. Tony averted his face and tried to extricate himself from Gibbs’ arms, but Gibbs wouldn’t let him go. So the hell what if Abby saw them? He was taking care of Tony, who needed a shoulder to lean on during a trying time. He’d done the same for Abby plenty of times. “No, we’ll eat… Just give is a few minutes,” Gibbs said with a nod. Abby retreated as quietly as she’d come in. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t say anything to the others about seeing him comforting Tony.

 

Tony was quick to regain his composure. He stepped out of Gibbs’ hold, smiling at him in thanks, and after a deep breath, he opened the swing door. “Hey, I thought there was a party going on here,” he called out with a broad smile. “The bird is ready to carve and I gotta tell you, you’re going to love my stuffing. Nobody’s allergic to nuts, are they? Good. We’re going to put everything on the dining table, on the hot pads and mats, please, so we can start serving. Boss is going to carve, right?”

 

Gibbs nodded and soon they were all seated around his dining table, passing plates and serving up turkey with Tony’s stuffing, along with purple potatoes, mango coconut gravy, cranberry sauce and a big helpings of mujadra-stuffed squash.

 

Ducky made sure everyone had a drink in hand before raising his glass and leading a toast to his colleagues and friends. “May we always be happy, and may our enemies know it.”

 

Gibbs was happy to drink to that.

 

  * T • G • T • G • T • G •



 

Palmer asked, “Second helpings, anyone? Or we can move on to dessert. We have blueberry and pumpkin pie.”

 

Gibbs glowered at Palmer. “None of that ambrosia salad crap, right?”

 

“No, sir!” Palmer assured him.

 

Tony raised his wine glass in Abby’s direction. “Also, our very own Ms. Sciuto has made some delicious and scary looking cookies in the shape of bats.”

 

“I made some with green bat wings, though we also have the traditional black icing, if you’d prefer,” Abby said cheerfully. “I think I saw some snickerdoodles in the kitchen, too.”

 

Tony sent Gibbs a look and said, “I think I’ll pass on those.”

 

“The main course was wonderful, but I have had sufficient,” Ducky said. “I would love one of the black-winged cookies, if you’d be so kind, having partaken of the real thing, giant fruit-eating bat roasted in cocoa beans, when I was with Doctors without Borders in Equador…”

 

“With garlic?” asked Tony.

 

Abby raised her hand and said excitedly, “Ooh, I know that one! _Crocodile Dundee II_!”

 

Ducky looked at Abby over the top of his glasses, bemused. “They ate crocodile?”

 

“An acquired taste, Ducky?” asked McGee, pulling a face.

 

“Quite likely, my boy, only I was not there long enough to acquire the taste of Artibeus lituratus,” Ducky replied with a chuckle. “I must say that I prefer traditional Scottish cuisine such as cloutie oatmeal dumplings, made with sultanas and allspice.”

 

“Okay, I’m lost. What the hell was the question?” Gibbs asked, looking annoyed.

 

Everyone burst into laughter, including Tony. The consensus was to bring on the dessert, along with some wine, which Ducky would pour. And coffee for Gibbs. Tony and Palmer volunteered to carry a few dishes into the kitchen. “Don’t bother to clear everything off,” Tony suggested. “Just enough to make room for the desserts.”

 

At one end of the table, Abby and Ziva were listening raptly to Ducky telling a story of a long-ago Christmas in Scotland, when he was a wee lad. Gibbs listened with only half an ear. He was far more interested in watching Tony bumping the swing door open with his ass, as he carried a load of empty dishes into the kitchen. He couldn’t wait for everyone to be gone; all he wanted was to be in bed with Tony, simply holding him.

 

Although they’d been together for five years, not all of it had been smooth going. Taking time to be alone, to talk quietly, to simply be with each other, was an important part of their success as a couple. Quiet time was good. Not to say that the sex wasn’t great, because it was, and even with their stressful job and long hours, they managed to find time to engage in some pretty hot sex together.

 

Relationships weren’t easy to maintain, as Gibbs could attest to, but what he had with Tony was nothing like any relationship he’d ever had before. They had a deep love and respect for each other, and didn’t often have fights. If they did, it was usually his fault, for being stubborn, or not paying attention to Tony’s needs. Since Tony’s needs turned out to be what Gibbs needed, too, satisfying them became its own reward. Sometimes they had to shut off their phones, take a weekend away somewhere, and do something nice for each other. Gibbs loved working with Tony, but he had found, more and more as the years progressed, that he preferred to shut out the world and focus on Tony, and Tony alone. Their life outside of work was rich and rewarding, a special place of friendship and love and intimacy, and Gibbs would do whatever it took to preserve it.

 

Gibbs smiled, thinking about how he was going to strip Tony down tonight, lick and kiss every inch of his body until he had him moaning and begging to be fucked, and…and then Gibbs remembered: he still had Senior to deal with. Damn that man!

 

Glancing at his watch, Gibbs wondered why he hadn’t heard from Fornell. Surely, the FBI agents would have caught up with Gwen Van Buren and DiNozzo Sr. by now. He pulled out his cell phone and squinted at the buttons, but before he had a chance to place the call, there was a great crash in the kitchen. There was a muffled curse and someone – Tony – said something sharply that sounded like a warning.

 

McGee and Ziva were immediately on alert, but Gibbs motioned for them to stay seated. “You two busting up my kitchen?” he called, and went to see what they were up to.

 

Jimmy Palmer burst out of the kitchen, almost colliding with Gibbs, his eyes wide with alarm. “Tony’s father…He’s…he’s…”

 

Gibbs shoved Palmer aside and charged into the kitchen. DiNozzo Sr. was standing just inside the back door. He held a gun at arm’s length, pointed directly at Tony’s head.

 

• T • G • T • G • T • G •


	6. You Get What You Give

**CHAPTER 6 - You Get What You Give**

 

Gibbs held up a hand of caution to stop his agents from following him, and let the swing door shut behind him. No room for anyone else in the small kitchen. Their presence would escalate the danger, and from the look on Senior’s face, the danger level was already high.

 

Senior’s face was flushed an unhealthy red, his usually well-coiffed hair in disarray. Mud covered his shoes and was coating one leg of his trousers; there was a tear in the fabric at the knee, and Gibbs caught a glimpse of some blood. He must have tripped, fallen. Been running from something. From Fornell, the FBI agents who’d gone to bring him in for questioning. Who had failed to catch him, apparently.

 

Tony was standing with his hands raised in submission, barely five feet from his father. He didn’t glance at Gibbs when he said, “Everything’s under control, Boss.”

 

From the expression on Senior’s face, everything was definitely not under control. The man was furious, and clearly not thinking straight. It looked like he might pull the trigger at any moment; Tony was in terrible danger.

 

Gibbs raised his hands to show Senior he wasn’t carrying a weapon. “What’s going on here, Chief?” His voice sounded a hell of a lot calmer than he felt. His heart was pounding fast and it was hard to focus. All he could see was the gun, and Tony.

 

“What’s going _on_?” Although Senior’s raised arm was shaking a little, the gun was still pointed at Tony. He made a derisive sound. “You sent the cops after me, that’s what’s going on, Agent Gibbs!”

 

“Dad, he didn’t–“

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Senior yelled at Tony. “He’s had it in for me right from the start, and you, my own _son_ , you had a hand in it, didn’t you? Turned me in, you little piece of shit!”

 

“Please put down the gun,” Tony entreated. “You don’t need it.” He shifted his weight, as if he planned to step towards his father, but Senior tensed up.

 

“You try anything, either of you, and I’ll shoot Junior’s head off,” he warned.

 

The blood drained from Tony’s face, and Gibbs knew that at that moment he realized his father had no compunction about killing him. “If your finger so much as twitches, and I’ll kill you,” Gibbs promised in a low growl.

 

Senior’s eyes flickered in Gibbs’ direction for the first time, and Gibbs saw the fury in his eyes, the edge of desperation.

 

Senior snarled, “You think I don’t know what’s been going here?” He looked at Tony with such venom that Gibbs was afraid he was going to pull the trigger.

 

“If you harm him in any way, I’ll rip you to pieces,” Gibbs promised, edging closer to Tony.

 

“ _You’re_ the one I blame,” accused Senior. “You corrupted my son! He looked up to you, and you took advantage of that! You knew he was weak, looking for something. You’re his _boss_ , for Chrissake! You dragged him into your… your unnatural–”

 

“Please Dad, you don’t understand. Gibbs is–” Tony started.

 

Gibbs cut him off, saying, “Don’t waste your breath, Tony.” Explaining anything, like how they felt about each other, was only going to fan the flames.

 

Tony turned his head and their eyes met. “Sorry, Gibbs, I broke rule 9.”

 

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t,” Gibbs replied. Before Senior could say anything more, Gibbs took a step closer and said firmly, “We know about the money, the Caymans, about you and Gwen Van Buren. Hunt wouldn’t have killed Lt. Massey if you hadn’t put the idea in his head.” That shook Senior, he could tell.

 

“You can’t do this to me! I’ve earned that money! How _dare_ you interfere in my business?” Senior ranted.

 

Tony replied, “Because it’s my job, Dad! I saw Gwen’s picture and I remembered, everything, walking in on you all those years ago… how could you? She was only sixteen!”

 

“What? Who cares how old she was?” Senior asked, his features twisting in scorn. “It doesn’t matter. We’re good together. We’re going to finish what we started, now that prick Massey is out of the way.”

 

“That was your idea, was it? You worked with the lawyer to get rid of Massey,” suggested Gibbs, while trying to decide whether he could risk jumping Senior, or if it was a fool move. He might be able to disarm him, but at this distance the chance of Tony getting shot was high. He didn’t like the odds, not at all, but Senior wasn’t exactly stable and any minute he might lose it, and get off a shot anyway.

 

Senior shook his head. “Massey was going to ruin our deal; we stood to lose millions.” As he spoke, his arm lowered a little. The gun was still aimed at Tony, his chest now, and Gibbs could tell Tony was contemplating making a move.

 

Gibbs stepped closer to Tony, and now they were side-by-side, facing Senior. Tony glanced at him and his eyes pled, ‘Don’t,’ as clearly as if he’d said the word aloud.

 

Gibbs shook his head and smiled sardonically, as if he thought Senior was incredibly stupid. “You’re digging your own grave here, Chief.”

 

“You can’t prove anything,” Senior said to Gibbs, his eyes narrowing. “Now, I came here for my things. Send that kid in there, the one who works with Ducky, up to fetch them. Once I’ve got them, I’ll leave. That’s all that’s going to happen here.”

 

“I don’t have to prove anything.” Shrugging, Gibbs said confidently, “Even if you managed to get past Tony and me, the rest of my team’ll bring you down. They’ll be covering all the exits by now. And don’t even think about using one of us as a hostage. Like Ziva will be happy to point out to you, Mossad doesn’t negotiate. And neither does NCIS. Besides, we’ve already re-routed the money, and we have your passport. You’re not goin’ anywhere, Chief. So put down the gun. We can end this peacefully.”

 

For a second, it looked as though Senior was about to buckle, but his expression hardened. He sneered, “You don’t have a weapon or you’d have used it by now, so piss off. I know your people; they’ll never risk your life, Gibbs, they’re so fucking loyal. And you won’t do anything so long as I have Junior here, acting as my own personal shield.” All of a sudden, before Gibbs could react, Senior reached out and grabbed Tony’s arm, yanking him towards him.

 

Tony fell into his father, got his arm free and grappled with him, somehow keeping the gun aimed at the ceiling. Gibbs jumped in to take control of the weapon. He seized Senior’s wrist, twisted it hard, and wrenched the gun out of his hand. He got one of Senior’s arms locked in a hold behind his back, but the man shouted obscenities and struck out blindly with his free arm. His closed fist hit Tony on the side of the head. Tony’s head flew back; he crashed against the counter, staggered, remained on his feet and threw a punch. Blood spurted from Senior’s nose. He lurched, screaming, hand to his face, and collapsed against the back door.

 

There was a blur of motion, and Senior was facedown on the kitchen floor, with Ziva on his back. Senior struggled, spewing, “You can’t do this to me! Get off me! My nose! He broke my nose!”

 

Gibbs got out of the way, letting them handle it. He unloaded the gun and tossed it in the sink, then went to Tony, who was leaning against the counter, as far away from his father as was possible in the small kitchen.

 

One of Senior’s hands was still free and he was grabbing for anything he could get his hand on. McGee, gun drawn, stepped on his wrist until Ziva could restrain him. She jammed her knee into Senior’s back and grabbed a fistful of hair, making him yowl in pain. “If you do not shut up, I will be forced to cut out your tongue!” She pulled out her cuffs and ratcheted them tightly on Senior’s wrists.

 

McGee kept his gun aimed at the man on the floor, but the fight seemed to have gone out of DiNozzo Sr. “You should have called us in, Boss,” McGee said, sounding displeased.

 

Abby stood in the doorway, with Palmer and Ducky nearby, looking angry and upset. Palmer brandished the carving knife and fork they’d used on the turkey, and Ducky had a wicked looking corkscrew clasped firmly in his hand. Abby said, “Yeah, we were waiting for your bat-signal, Gibbs!” She held a snub-nosed revolver at her side, muzzle aimed at the floor, her finger on the guard. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her weapon, and her chin went up. “You think I’m the kind of girl who brings pepper spray to a fight? Not me, mister!”

 

Tony leaned heavily against Gibbs, the heel of his hand pressed to the side of his head. “What happened, Boss? I thought you were gonna pull out your Zero Tolerance knife,” he said, his attempt at a laugh shaky.

 

His heart still beating way too fast, Gibbs took hold of Tony’s upper arm to steer him out of the kitchen. “They bring a gun, you can’t flash a knife.”

 

Tony stopped and stared at Gibbs in amazement. “You’re quoting Sean Connery?”

 

“If I went for him with the knife, he’d have shot you. I couldn’t risk that,” Gibbs explained testily. “Thought I’d distract him a little. You’re always telling me to use more words.”

 

“So you made him so angry, he’d want to shoot you instead of me? _That_ was your plan?” Tony snapped.

 

Gibbs shrugged. “I had to do something. He was going to…You’re bleeding, Tony.” Tony raised his hand to probe at his head, where the hair was now wet with blood, but Gibbs was quick to take Tony’s hand in his. “You need to sit down,” he said, his voice low. “Please, Tony.” Realizing that all eyes were upon him, Gibbs scowled at his people. “Do you always come to Thanksgiving dinner armed to the teeth?”

 

The ME put his impromptu weapon aside and quickly went to the fridge. He wrapped ice in a kitchen towel and handed it to Tony. “Allow me to look at that in the living room.”

 

Tony held the ice pack to the side of his head, above his ear, and said, “It was just a fist.”

 

“I shall be the judge of that,” Ducky replied, eyeing Tony in a manner suggesting he should know by now not to defy him. Tony sighed and agreed, but he stopped in the doorway to have a last look at his father.

 

Ziva was hauling DiNozzo Sr. to his feet. Senior groaned and coughed, and complained at the rough treatment. He was a mess, blood from his broken nose streaming down his face and staining his shirt. She snorted and asked, “What should I do with this… _khazerai_?”

 

Not needing a translation, Gibbs ordered, “Take him outside and cuff him to the front porch. McGee, call Fornell and tell him to get the hell over here to pick up his garbage.” Gibbs walked over to Senior, needing to get in the last word. “You’re going down, Chief, and I’m gonna see to it they bury you so deep you’ll never see the light of day again,” he growled.

 

Senior glared at Gibbs and then spat a mouthful of blood at him. “You fucking _fag_.” Ziva tightened her grip on him from behind, pulling his cuffed wrists high enough to make him bow forward. Senior screamed and struggled, to no avail.

 

Abby made a move to go after Senior, shouting, “You can’t do this to my friends!” Palmer quickly grabbed the angry woman, and pulled her out of the too-crowded kitchen, saying soothingly, “He’s not worth it. You don’t have to sink to his level, Abby.”

 

Gibbs muttered, “The hell with sinking to his level,” and to a chorus of “Gibbs, don’t!” he punched Senior in the stomach, following up with a swift uppercut to the jaw. Senior collapsed to the floor, groaning. “Get that piece of trash out of my house,” Gibbs ordered, and turned his back on the man. He gently led Tony to the living room, saying, “C’mon, Tony, we need to look at your head.”

 

Tony seemed to be in shock, looking over his shoulder as Ziva opened the back door and hauled Senior out, accompanied by McGee. “But…”

 

“No. Enough.”

 

Tony stared at Gibbs for a moment before going with him into the quiet of the living room. He’d only taken a couple of steps when his knees buckled and he started to fall. Luckily, Gibbs was right there and supported him until Palmer came to the rescue. Between the two men, they got Tony safely to the couch.

 

Tony sank into the soft cushions with a moan. “No, I’m…I’m…”

 

“If you say you’re fine, DiNozzo…” Gibbs warned. He didn’t like the way Tony looked, pale, his eyes unfocused.

 

Ducky gently pushed Gibbs to one side, his attention on Tony. “Go and clean up, Jethro. Abigail, if you would be so kind, my bag is in the Morgan. In the boot.” Abby rushed out to fetch it.

 

“What? I’m not leaving–.”

 

Tony, who looked as though he was going to puke at any moment, said, “You’ve got…his blood on you.”

 

Gibbs looked down. He’d forgotten that Senior had spit on him; there was blood spatter on his shirt and trousers, but what the hell? It wasn’t anything to be alarmed about.

 

It was Palmer who pointed out, “Considering Mr. DiNozzo’s reputation with the ladies, sleeping with everyone from coast to coast, and beyond, I certainly wouldn’t want his blood on me.”

 

“Wash up, Jethro,” Ducky directed, carefully inspecting the damage to Tony’s head. “Anthony has an open wound here. Mr. Palmer, if you would ring for an ambulance.”

 

“Of course, Doctor.”

 

Abby rushed in with a well-worn leather bag in hand. “Here you go, Ducky.”

 

The ME donned a pair of latex gloves before pulling out a blood pressure cuff. Ignoring Tony’s groan of reluctance, Ducky wrapped it around his arm and pumped it up while asking him if he felt dizzy, nauseous or weak.

 

Tony blinked slowly a couple of times. “Yes,” he admitted, closing his eyes.

 

“Shit,” Gibbs swore. Before he went upstairs for a hot shower, he leaned over Tony and asked in a low voice, “Tony? You’re gonna be okay. Understand?”

 

Tony’s response was to flap a hand at him. “Mmm. Go.”

 

Ducky said, “Anthony’s pressure is a little low, but that’s to be expected. I assure you he is safe in my hands, Jethro.”

 

“Ducky…”

 

“Use plenty of that marine soap you favor, and by the time you are done, I expect the ambulance will be here. Mr. Palmer, please pass me some gauze and…yes, that’s it.”

 

But Gibbs wasn’t moving an inch until he looked into Tony’s eyes and saw for himself that he was okay. “Tony?”

 

Tony opened his eyes and managed a wan smile. “Sure. Ev’thing’s under control here. Move along. Nothing to see. Hey, Jimmy?”

 

“Yeah, Tony?”

 

Tony caught him by the sleeve. “Get me something to barf in, will ya?”

 

It was with great reluctance that Gibbs left Tony’s side, but he figured if he hurried, he’d be back, all scrubbed and fresh, by the time the ambulance arrived. As he climbed the stairs, Gibbs heard Tony saying to Ducky, “He takes good care of me, y’know.” And Ducky responding, “Yes, my boy, I can tell.”

 

  * T • G • T • G • T • G •



 

When the FBI turned up at Gibbs’ house, they found their escaped suspect secured to the front porch railing with several heavy bicycle chains, and Gibbs and his colleagues sitting around the living room. Ziva was eating pumpkin pie, and everyone seemed to be watching Gibbs, who appeared to be watching Tony, who was slumped on the couch.

 

Gibbs held an ice pack to Tony’s head. Even from across the room, Fornell could see a large bruise on the left side of Tony’s face, and the area around his eye was swollen. Gibbs was seated very close to Tony, one hand on his shoulder, as if to keep him upright. Fornell gave them a hard time about interrupting his Thanksgiving dinner, but they all knew he wasn’t serious; his daughter’s cooking was almost as bad as her mother’s, which was reputed to be deadly.

 

Sirens could be heard in the distance, and although Mr. DiNozzo Sr. appeared to need emergency medical care, Gibbs and Ducky made sure that Tony got priority.

 

Tony objected to being made to lie down on the gurney the EMTs brought into the house. He didn’t like the questions they asked, or the light shone in his eyes, nor the blood pressure cuff or IV needle, or the way they discussed his care as if he wasn’t there. He never once complained about Gibbs holding his hand, though, or the way Gibbs threatened the ambulance crew when they didn’t want him to ride along.

 

The ambulance carrying Tony, and Gibbs, left long before a second ambulance arrived to transport DiNozzo Sr. to another hospital – another demand Gibbs had made. “A matter of security,” he’d said.

 

McGee and Ziva drove to the FBI offices to assist them with their interrogation of DiNozzo Sr. and Gwen Van Buren. Ms. Van Buren had been picked up at the airport, a ticket to Grand Cayman in her hand. Ducky, meanwhile, accompanied by Jimmy, with Abby following in her own car, hurried to the hospital to wait with Gibbs while Tony was assessed.

 

After he’d been evaluated by an ER physician and a neurologist, and subjected to a CT, Tony was left to wait for the results. Clad in a skimpy hospital gown, covered in a thin blanket, he looked pallid and worn out. The bruises to his face were changing from red to bluish purple, but the application of ice around his eye seemed to be taking the swelling down.

 

A nurse sutured the gash above his ear where he’d been struck by his father’s fist, but apart from the injections to numb the area, Tony said he didn’t feel any pain. “None?” she asked.

 

“Not there. More…inside my head.” Tony admitted.

 

“Can you tell me the level of pain?”

 

“Oh, I’m not very good at that…”

 

“DiNozzo…” Gibbs warned.

 

Tony sighed and pulled a face only the nurse could see. “Six, maybe?”

 

“I’ll get you something for it,” said the nurse. She returned a while later and inserted a needle into Tony’s IV before he could say anything.

 

A combination of exhaustion and medications sent Tony to sleep before the nurse had even left the examination room.

 

Gibbs sat, straight-backed, on an uncomfortable chair beside Tony’s bed, with a paper cup of hospital coffee in his hand. He was just wishing he had thought to bring a thermos of his own coffee, or if he could get someone to bring him some decent coffee from the doctor’s lounge, when Tony stirred in the bed.

 

“Mmm. Can we go now?”

 

“Nope. Not ‘til the doc says you’re okay.”

 

Tony blinked and said stubbornly, “I told you I’m fine, Boss.”

 

“Shut up, DiNozzo.”

 

Tony’s mouth opened in shock at Gibbs’ sharp retort. “I think I know if I’m fine!” He found the controls and raised the head of the bed.

 

“You don’t know what fine means,” Gibbs groused.

 

“Actually,” said Ducky, “considering the force with which you were struck, you are lucky to walk away with nothing more serious than a mild concussion.”

 

“They haven’t said it’s a mild concussion or otherwise yet,” Gibbs said.

 

“Ah, well, I snuck a look at the scans and there are no signs of bleeding or anything to be concerned about,” Ducky pronounced. “A little bed rest, limited visual stimulation…he should be back to his normal self in a week or so. Of course you have to wait for the attending physician to confirm that.”

 

“Thanks, Ducky,” Tony said with a small smile.

 

“I am only sorry that it happened at all,” said Ducky.

 

“I think we can all agree to that,” Jethro said with a firm nod.

 

Palmer came in with Abby, carrying a tray of Starbucks coffee. He handed a large to Gibbs while asking, “How’re you feeling, Tony?”

 

“I wanna go home,” Tony said, picking at the blanket.

 

“Hey Tony,” said Abby. “How many stitches did you have?”

 

Tony raised his hand to touch the bandage adhered to his head. “Seven, I think. Did she shave my hair off?”

 

Gibbs was quick to send a stern look his way. “You keep touching it and you’re gonna lose more than a few hairs that’ll grow back.”

 

“What? I can’t ask a few questions about what’s going on?”

 

“You only had a small area shaved, okay?” Gibbs said unsympathetically. “We’ll leave when they say we can leave.”

 

Palmer piped up, “The doctors are most likely looking for less obvious damage. Your orbital bones could easily be fractured, and fractured bones can very well puncture the eye, or damage blood vessels or nerves.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Jimmy,” Tony said.

 

Abby added, “Just accept it, Tony, even if you only have a concussion, you’re going to be on bed rest, and checked every hour, and that means Gibbs is going to have to be with you 24/7, watching over you, and taking care of you, because you’ve been injured and traumatized by that…that horrible man who lied, and pretended that he cared about us!”

 

“Abby,” Ducky warned.

 

“Okay, I forgot, don’t mention him. Lips zipped.” To seconds later, she was talking again. “Anyway, so Gibbs will bring you all your favorite foods, and entertain you, and… and hug you… and just _be_ there to take care of you.” She grinned and then swooped in to hug Tony, whispering in his ear, “And it’s about time you two stopped sneaking around. Like we don’t know what’s going on.” She rolled her eyes.

 

Tony was looking at Gibbs, as if for confirmation, so Gibbs jerked a thumb in their friends’ direction, and said, “Like they said. Not sure about the entertaining part, though.”

 

When Tony laughed, he winced. His hand went to his head and he made a small sound of pain. Gibbs grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “Stop touching it,” he ordered. He didn’t release Tony’s hand, and when Tony tried to pull away, Gibbs just held on tighter. Tony gave up and Gibbs smiled, even though they had a small audience.

 

Ducky smiled benevolently at them. “I would stay here and offer you a lift home, but I’m afraid my Morgan does not have the room.”

 

“We’re fine with a cab,” said Gibbs.

 

“You’re taking me back to NCIS, doctor, so I’ll get my car and come back here,” Palmer said with a smile. “I’ll be happy to take you home. To Gibbs’ home.”

 

Tony accepted the kind offer for the both of them.

 

Ducky herded Palmer towards the door. “Make sure you ring me if you have any concerns, Jethro.”

 

“Will do, Ducky.”

 

Abby gave Tony a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, I’m going to clean up your house–“

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Gibbs said.

 

Abby continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “–and then I’m going to see what evidence we have that the FBI needs with regards to the you-know-what that you-know-who has been doing.”

 

Tony said, “You don’t have to talk around it, Abbs. We all know what he did.”

 

“We do _now_. It’s just that I… I never thought he was like that, and I hate it that I never saw any signs, and that we were all taken in by his smooth ways,” Abby said.

 

“You know how he smiles, showing all his teeth?” Tony asked, leaning towards Abby as if he were telling her a great secret. She nodded. “He coats his teeth with Vaseline so his lips slide back easily.”

 

“Eeew!”

 

Tony nodded wisely. “I saw it in a movie once. Beauty pageant. _Smile_ , that was the name. 1970-something.” He yawned and complained, “How much longer is the doctor gonna be, Jethro? I want to go to bed.”

 

Abby waved and headed out the door.

 

Right on cue, the doctor came in along with an assistant bearing a sheaf of papers. Take-home instructions, Gibbs knew. The doctor assured them that Tony’s injury was limited to bruising and concussion, but recited the usual drill of things to look out for: confusion, strange behavior, not making sense, trouble with vision… Tony mouthed the words of the doctor, knowing the instructions by heart, until Gibbs gave his arm a light smack.

 

Finally Tony was released, and Palmer drove them back to Gibbs’ home. He saw them inside, and made sure they were okay before leaving.

 

Both men were exhausted by then, so they were pleasantly surprised to find that Abby had, as she’d promised, cleared up and stored all the uneaten Thanksgiving food in the fridge. The kitchen floor had been washed with disinfectant, but Gibbs noticed some bloodstains in the grout, which would never come out. The pungent smell made Tony back out, looking a bit green. “Go right up to bed,” Gibbs instructed. For once, Tony did as he was told without so much as a sigh.

 

By the time Gibbs had locked up, and called Ducky to let him know they were home safe, it was late. He quietly entered their bedroom, where they slept in the king-sized bed he’d built himself. He’d started working on it the day Tony had agreed to move in, four years ago. They’d been together for a year at that point, but Gibbs had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Tony within weeks of beginning a relationship with him.

 

Now Tony was lying on his side of the bed, pillows piled up under his poor bruised head. His eyes were closed but Gibbs didn’t think he was asleep yet.

 

Leaving the bathroom nightlight on, Gibbs slipped under the covers and settled with a sigh. God, what a day, what a nightmare. Tony hadn’t said anything about his father since the ruckus in the kitchen, other than teasing Abby about his Vaseline-coated teeth, but it must be weighing heavily on his mind. Tony may be too exhausted and hurting to deal with it tonight, but his father’s actions were sure to hit him full force the next day. Tony took things to heart, and then tried to suppress his feelings, but Gibbs knew how to draw him out. It took patience and a gentle sort of interrogation to get Tony to reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings.

 

As far as Gibbs was concerned, he didn’t want to ever mention the man’s name again, not in his home, anyway. He would not allow Tony to bear the burden of his father’s callous, selfish, and outright criminal ways. He didn’t even want to think of Senior as being related to Tony. The second he struck Tony down, all ties had been cut. Senior meant nothing to either of them any more. He would never hurt Tony again.

 

Tony’s soft words cut into Gibbs’ thoughts. “You know, I can hear you thinking,” he said. Gibbs could hear the smile in Tony’s voice.

 

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

 

“It was bound to happen someday,” Tony said, regret and sorrow coloring his voice.

 

“I never expected it to go down like that,” Gibbs admitted.

 

“It’s over. Done. He’s not coming back.”

 

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” said Gibbs, knowing how close they’d come to being seriously hurt, not only Tony but all of them.

 

Tony sighed deeply and rolled over, throwing one arm across Gibbs’ stomach. Tony kissed Gibbs’ neck, the only bare skin he could reach, but Gibbs turned his head and found Tony’s mouth. He kissed him slowly, lovingly, rolling over so he could take him in his arms. Tony responded sweetly, gently cupping Gibbs’ jaw with one hand. They kissed for a while, comforting, soothing, reassuring each other with kisses. When they moved apart, it was only so Tony could rest his cheek on Gibbs’ warm shoulder.

 

“I love you,” Tony said, so quietly Gibbs barely heard it.

 

“I love you, too,” Gibbs replied, kissing the top of Tony’s head. “I want to take away your hurt. I hate that I can’t.”

 

Tony was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “You do. Every day. I don’t know what I’d do without you, or even who I’d be. It’s like you’re part of me.”

 

“You’d still be you, if we’d never met.”

 

“I wouldn’t be the same though, not really. You’ve influenced me, my life. So has McGee, Ziva, everyone.” Tony sighed. “I was going to take a few days off, you know.”

 

“When?”

 

“Back when we first met. Baltimore. I was planning to take Wendy on a romantic weekend, and to ask her to marry me. But my captain wanted me to work overtime, and I needed the money, so…”

 

“So we only met because you wanted some extra cash?”

 

Tony nodded against Gibbs’ chest, and his hand slid down to fondle Gibbs’ cock through his PJ bottoms. “Good thing I’m greedy.”

 

Gibbs chuckled. “Yeah, I know all about you being greedy.” He rested his hand on top of Tony’s, stopping him from going any further. “But that’ll have to wait. We need to sleep. I’m going to be waking you up every hour, all night long. You need to be alert enough to answer questions.”

 

Tony groaned. “Don’t ask me presidents and dates. I suck at those. Ask me movie questions, okay?”

 

“Movie questions? Even if I think of any, I won’t know if you got the answers right,” Gibbs pointed out.

 

“Then ask me something else.” Tony yawned and hugged Gibbs.

 

Gibbs thought a minute, then asked, “You mean like questions to ask on a date?”

 

Tony raised his head, interested. “A date? Where’d you get an idea like that, Leroy Jethro Gibbs?”

 

Gibbs squirmed a little and smiled. “I read a magazine while you were getting your head scanned.”

 

Tony snorted softly. “Test me.”

 

“Okay…” He thought for a moment and asked, “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one quality or ability, what would it be?”

 

“To be truthful, not always feeling like I have to say something to impress people; to be the real me. Or to be able to hold off on my orgasm longer; you always make me come too soon. Or maybe reading people’s minds. X-ray vision, the ability to fly, or to time travel, to… ”

 

Gibbs snorted. “Let’s not get into superpowers. And your timing is exactly right. I like you coming before I do. As far as being truthful, you’re plenty truthful when you’re with me.”

 

“That’s because I trust you,” Tony said softly. “Okay, give me another one.”

 

“Go to sleep.”

 

“Just one more,” Tony mumbled.

 

Gibbs thought for a minute, then said, “Make a ‘we’ statement.”

 

Tony was silent for so long Gibbs thought he’d gone to sleep, but eventually he said, “Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, I think I’m dead. Just for a second.”

 

“Tony!”

 

Tony touched Gibbs’ arm reassuringly. “It’s okay. A second later, I feel my heart beating, and it’s so full of love for you, and it’s so intense, I don’t know how it is that nobody can tell what I’m feeling. I know that nothing is certain, and life is really hard at times, and after today…well, I can’t even begin to think about what kind of impact it’s going to have on me, on _us_ …but being with you, knowing how much you love me, that we’re a _we_ , and that we’re stronger together than apart, well, that’s what makes me feel alive.”

 

Gibbs swallowed, not knowing what to say in response. But in the end, all he had to do was kiss Tony, and hold him in his arms, and promise him they’d get through this together, and that everything would be all right. And for some strange reason that Gibbs could never quite fathom, Tony believed him.

 

The • T • G • T • G • T • G • End

 


End file.
